Author: Mike Crowl

I take out my secondhand FLUTE
to play the fifth piece from my father’s FOLIO.
His cantankerous, expository PROSE
LEACHes from the page, putting me off.     

The
SNARE of my soul’s Enemy is a misshaped
CHUNK of metal pinned on one side to me, like a
CLEAT that joins me to him. Praise God for the
TURBO jet power of Jesus Christ to release me!

The
youngest SCAMP is AMONG those who have to
HALVE their SHIRTs (a bet) in order to join the
CLASH with the superior OUTGOing team:
‘REBUTting the GULCH’ is the name of this contest.

STRIP loneliness from my heart, O
WOOER of mine. Turn this broken
STATE to peace; let this sheep keep the
FERAL words I hold from being spoken.     

We pronounced his name GAZER – he was Gaza Fraknovari, a
Hungarian boy whose family had escaped the revolution.
He had to find a way to LUNGE into the Kiwi-English all around him
Tongued by schoolboys careless of whether he could speak or understand it.
Unlike Audras Kuzma, who spoke BADLY, and never learned to speak
Better, Gaza’s mind was… Continue reading Tongue-tied

STRUT my stuff in the movie for a piffling amount of
MONEY. My full day’s work ends up in a tiny
CAMEO where I’m glimpsed for a second as part of an
OCTET, gawking, and playing the piano.